Many Waters
by Cutter
Summary: Harry finds himself in the uncomfortable position of owing someone a debt of honor, and all because of a squid.
1. Underwater

OK, so as a preliminary disclaimer, I found myself unable to figure out whether in the beginning of the fifth book Harry would be fifteen or sixteen. I had thought fifteen, but if I'm confused and he's a year older I apologize. ^_^;; In any case, since he's pretty fixated on Cho and pretty damn good in his fight against Voldemort in Book Four, I submit that as Book Five begins Harry is most definitely not too young to think about ::cough:: physical matters or scary, serious subjects of a Dark nature. He's a kid, sure, but expecting a kid his age never to think about sex and doom is sort of unrealistic, IMO. . . .  
  
  
Yes, I will be slashing Harry. In other words, he may well be caught snogging another boy in the course of this fic. ^_~  
  
  
No, I do not own Harry (JK Rowling does, as I think you all well know). I do not, in fact, own any of this, except for Connie Cupplewicket's Tummy-loosening Tea, and I can't even quite bring myself to swear I didn't get that from somewhere else.  
  
  
**Many Waters**  
  
  
Harry knew the moment Hagrid said "squid" that something awful was going to happen. The large half-giant's fondness for strange animals had gotten them into trouble before, and there was no reason to be believe that today's Care of Magical Creatures squid-watching trip to the lake was going to be any different.  
  
  
Although he wasn't sure he could see why anyone would want to "care for" Hogwarts' resident giant squid anyway--even Hagrid.  
  
  
Then again, little Dennis Creevy had seemed fond of the creature. . .and it had very nicely put Dennis back in the boat when he'd fallen overboard as a first-year. So maybe--  
  
  
"Harry! This way! You don' want ter get too close to that bit o' the lake. That's the deep bit, that is," Hagrid boomed, interrupting his thoughts. "Now, we'll be waiting fer the squid ter get active, like--shouldn' be too long. Yeh've all got yer food with you, right?"  
  
  
Various Slytherins and Gryffindors murmured assent. Well, various Gryffindors murmured assent, and a certain pale, cruel-mouthed Slytherin continued to grumble to his cronies and not-quite-quietly wonder why they had to come all the way out here in the autumn cold just to watch a slimy sea creature eat.  
  
  
Harry was privately wondering the same thing, but he'd rather cut out his own tongue than admit to agreeing with Draco Malfoy. Besides, Hagrid was Harry's friend.  
  
  
"I can't believe he's still harping on Hagrid!" steamed Ron Weasley, coming to stand by Harry. "I'd like to--"  
  
  
"Shhh, Ron," hissed Hermione from behind him. _I wonder if it's not a coincidence that they both just happened to catch up at the same time, coming from the same direction,_ mused Harry to himself. His two best friends had gotten awfully close of late. "We need to be able to hear the lecture!"  
  
  
"Herm, it's a lecture on *squid.* No one in Hogwarts is going to put *squid* on our O.W.L.s."  
  
  
"You never know what could get put on those tests!"  
  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
  
Seeing that Ron and Hermione were about to embark on another of their infamous (and interminable) squabbles, he decided to go find someplace to sit. Someplace quiet where he could tune them _and_ Malfoy's gang out for awhile. Harry had just returned to Hogwarts for his fifth year, and already in the first week of classes the Slytherins were getting on his nerves. Crabbe and Goyle had gotten bigger and thicker, Malfoy had gotten meaner (if that was possible), and Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and the other girls were even more hard-faced and unpleasant than before.  
  
  
At least, that's what it seemed like to Harry. But maybe, just maybe, he was just letting them get on his nerves more, because it took his mind off. . .other things he didn't want to think about.  
  
  
Harry had been worried ever since the Triwizard Tournament. His own fifteenth birthday hadn't cheered him up, not even with the meat pies and Canary Creams and other treats his friends had sent him. In truth, when he'd left one of the Canary Creams out to watch Dudley find it and eat it, and even _that_ hadn't made him crack more than half a smile, he'd known something was wrong.  
  
  
Voldemort was back, and getting stronger by the day. Even though war had not yet broken out, the mere thought of it all made Harry's stomach tie up into little knots that wouldn't come undone, even with the Connie Cupplewicket's Tummy-loosening Tea that Mrs. Weasley had given him over the summer.  
  
  
So in a way, concentrating on how much he hated the Slytherins was sort of comforting.  
  
  
Harry was so caught up in these thoughts that not only did he completely miss Hagrid's lecture, but he also failed to realize that he had wandered very close to the "deep bit" of the lake before sitting down. And he further didn't notice what his classmates were just then remarking on: the lake seemed to be. . .growing, somehow. He just wasn't paying attention.  
  
  
Which is the only explanation for how, at the very moment when Hagrid called out "She's coming," Harry could possibly have slipped into the dark water.  
  
  
He would tell people later, in a very heated tone of voice, that he had certainly done no such thing. "'Slipped into'?! Hah! More like, I looked down, and the lake was _reaching up around me_! That bloody squid started to move, and the whole _ lake_ lurched, you said so yourself, and all of a sudden I felt all this cold water sort of slip up over me, and then I, er. . .didn't know which way was up," he would be heard to say, finishing in a flustered mumble.  
  
  
But at the time, his impressions were not so clear. All that he could think was, "Wha--how did I--I'm all wet! Am I in the lake. . .?!"  
  
  
Which would not have sounded very good as a dinnertime story at the Gryffindor table, and it is perhaps not surprising that Harry edited it later.  
  
  
But at the time, in the lake. . . .  
  
  
Cold, cold water was pressing in all around him suddenly, and it jolted him out of his daze and stupefied him all at once, and some dim part of him remembered that there was _ something_ in the water, and that this kind of cold wasn't good, was dangerous--  
  
  
But by this time he was deep enough in the water that he couldn't touch either surface or ground--  
  
  
His legs were kicking out and his arms were flailing wildly--  
  
  
He reflexively started to gasp and felt water trickle through his lips before he aborted the action and clapped a hand over his mouth--  
  
  
Harry couldn't seem to get his limbs to cooperate and _ move_ him, and he remembered that he wasn't a good swimmer. The freezing liquid was swirling around him, and this time he didn't have the gillyweed and the instincts it produced to help him. With only normal, human limbs weighed down awfully by his clothes, he was awkward and heavy. If only someone would help him. . .he knew he was far across the lake from the mermaid settlement. . .the lake-water was almost like a wall of blackness pushing in at him from all sides. . . cold. . . . His mind was heavy, and he wasn't sure how long he'd been underwater, and everything was starting to get very comfortably grey around the edges--  
  
  
--and then for one short moment his mad flailing and spinning stilled, and Harry recognized clearly that he had to get out, or he was going to die.  
  
  
_ Do you want to go like this?!_ he screamed at himself. _ With Voldemort and the Death Eaters and a whole army of powerful wizards you've never even seen out for your blood, are you such a pathetic git that you're going to die here, in some stupid lake within sight of Hogwarts? Get_ moving!!!   
  
  
With considerable effort, Harry pulled himself together and concentrated. He had to kick his legs and then pull himself with his arms, and get himself out of the water. Now, he would just start moving toward the surface--wait. Should the water above him look this dark?   
  
  
Maybe he'd gotten turned around, Harry thought. He sort of spun around a bit until he thought he was upside down from his previous position, lungs burning. The water above him now seemed just as black as before. With a horrible lurch in his stomach, Harry realized that he didn't know which way was up.  
  
  
And his whole body was crying out for oxygen, and he wasn't sure he could stay conscious much longer. . . .  
  
  
The phrase "a sinking feeling" was beginning to take on a whole new meaning.  
  
  
Well, better to just pick a direction and start going than stay here. Harry didn't even know if the rest of the class knew he was gone. He started reaching toward where he thought the water looked the lightest, feeling his body and mind start to grow heavier and heavier.  
  
  
Soon he was going to have to try to breathe. He knew he couldn't do that, but his body was insisting that he couldn't just keep his mouth closed forever like this.  
  
  
Just as Harry was about ready to give it up and call himself squid food, something that felt like a hand brushed against his shoulder. _ What. . .a mermaid. . .?_ he thought, fuzzily.  
  
  
It was definitely a hand; it came back after a second to reach around him from behind and brush against his chest. He started thrashing weakly, trying to break free so he could keep swimming, when he could almost swear he heard somebody sigh. And then, suddenly, the hand was moving and two strong arms hooked under his armpits and jerked him (up? down?) hard.  
  
  
_ If this is Hagrid or Ron come to rescue me, I swear I'll buy them butterbeers every Hogsmeade weekend for a year. . .as many as they want. . .butterbeer for two years. . .every year. . .my firstborn child. . . ._  
  
  
And then, after how much time he couldn't tell, Harry was breaking the surface, coughing and taking in great gulps of oxygen as his rescuer dumped him on the shore. He continued to cough, so hard that his throat hurt. As he came back to himself, he gradually became aware that the rescuer was cursing, and wondered if he should try to get his eyes to focus and figure out who it was before he vomited up his lungs and his breakfast.  
  
  
Nope, he immediately found out, vomiting came first.  
  
  
Luckily, his glasses were still there when he felt for them some minutes later, having been bound to his face by a clump of what felt like seaweed. He removed it, wincing at the horrible bile taste in his mouth, and dried the glasses off as best he could with a Soaking Spell. When he was finished with this procedure, Harry returned them to his face and blinked curiously.  
  
  
Standing above him, usual faintly-sneering expression on his face, was Draco Malfoy.  
  
  
_Hell_, thought Harry.  
  
  
It was probably for the best that his much-abused body chose that moment to pass out.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy was not the kind of boy prone to bouts of introspection when action was called for. Oh, that wasn't to say he didn't think things through; Malfoys were crafty, and he had always been taught to carefully evaluate his plans before he carried them out.  
  
  
No, it was just that Draco had also learned to trust his instincts. Any animal needed good instincts to survive in a crisis; even Muggles knew that. Some of Draco's best adventures had come of spontaneity.  
  
  
Also, though he would never admit it, even in his own mind (indeed, what fifteen-year-old boy would?), Draco was still a child, and children are impulsive.  
  
  
So when he saw his nemesis, Harry Potter, fall into the lake, he took a quick stock of the situation. Harry was a little ways away from the rest of the class, and it seemed that nobody but Draco had seen what had happened. That meant whatever action he took was of critical importance, and it had to be taken (or not taken) right away. He could choose to let Harry fend for himself, to call for Hagrid, to do something on his own. Time was of the essence.  
  
  
Draco let his instincts take over.  
  
  
He walked over to the edge of the lake where Harry had gone in, used a Locating Spell to find him, rolled up his sleeves, plunged into the water underneath the green sparkles that marked Harry's location, and hauled the other boy out.  
  
  
Harry was heavy, and he was coughing up water all over Draco's shirt and in general being more than usually disgusting. Therefore, Draco thought, he was fully justified in dropping Mr. He-Who-Lived unceremoniously to the ground. He'd already gone above and beyond the call of duty saving the little toad.  
  
  
Predictably, Harry landed face-down, which meant Draco had to kick at him, muttering a steady stream of curses, until Harry rolled to one side. Damned if he'd have the git up and choke when he'd just gone to all the trouble of rescuing him.  
  
  
He continued to stand over Harry, watching impassively, as the other boy coughed and vomited onto the grass. _ Repulsive_, he thought, lip curling faintly.  
  
  
That was the moment when Draco wondered for the first time why he'd bothered to save The Boy Who Lived.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
And that's a wrap for the first chapter! There will be more (probably many more), I assure you. So, review and let me know how you liked it or didn't like it? Thoughtful reviews a better author make. . . .  
  
  
~~Cutter 


	2. A Stone Cast on the Surface

Hey all,  
  
And here we are with the second chapter. I'd dearly like to thank all of my reviewers, who've been quite kind and in many cases also intriguing. Much gratitude to Dracona, Remy, gwen, emma, valacirca (yes, honey, you've got an email coming to you soon:), nobody, and Warui Warui Neko (bad kitty though you may be).  
  
I'm glad ya'll seem to be liking Draco--he's a fascinating one for me, too. So be sure to tell me if I start getting him wrong.  
  
"Warnings" and notes:  
  
Yes, I will be slashing Harry. In other words, he may well be caught snogging another boy in the course of this fic. ^_~  
  
No, I do not own Harry (JK Rowling does, as I think you all well know). I do not, in fact, own any of this, except for Connie Cupplewicket's Tummy-loosening Tea, and I can't even quite bring myself to swear I didn't get that from somewhere else.  
  
  
  
  
  
**Many Waters**  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
  
He woke up slowly.  
  
Nonetheless, Harry had identified his surroundings even before his vision fully cleared (which event was made much easier for the fact that he'd apparently fallen asleep with his glasses on). He'd woken up quite enough times within these four walls to recognize them easily.  
  
"Of course," he mumbled. "The hospital wing. As expected."  
  
"Why, one would almost think you were displeased, Potter."  
  
_Now that's funny_, thought Harry. The walls had never actually *spoken* to him before. . .though now he came to think of it, their voice seemed sort of familiar.   
  
Harry's brain unmercifully chose that moment to start working again. "Oh, bloody hell," he said. In all the times he'd found himself in one of Madam Pomfrey's institution-style beds, he'd seldom wished quite so badly that he didn't remember how he'd gotten there.   
  
One of these days, these little mishaps were going to get him in serious trouble.  
  
"Ah, there we are," said Malfoy. "Back to your oh-so-eloquent self, I see."  
  
If the embarrassment didn't kill him first.  
  
Harry found his cheeks flaming. It would have to be _Malfoy_, of all people. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?" he demanded, willing his voice not to crack. He was pleased to discover that it didn't.  
  
"My, my, so grateful." Draco pushed himself off of the wall he'd been leaning against and sauntered over to a chair in the corner of the room. "Anyone would expect you to be thanking me for saving your pathetic little life, and here you are glaring at me and using uncivilized language. Ah, but I suppose you *were* raised by Muggles, weren't you?"  
  
"You bloody--" Harry didn't get more than a couple of words into the sentence before he realized he didn't know where it was going. He stopped, confused. On the one hand, he badly wanted to get his own back. Verbal sparring with Malfoy was automatic and immediate at this point. But on the other hand, those four years of conditioning seemed to be warring with a tiny voice inside him--his conscience, Harry assumed--which reminded him that Malfoy did have a point.   
  
He *had* saved Harry's life.  
  
Times like these it was hell having a conscience.  
  
_Deep breath_, said the inner voice, _take a deep breath._  
  
Ok.  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
"Potter?" replied his nemesis, who seemed to have been watching Harry's inner confusion with some satisfaction.  
  
Had he been paying the proper attention, Harry would've known in that instant. The shapeless, nameless upset roiling in his stomach should've been an adequate enough warning that the moment was a pivotal one. But he was under a lot of stress, and, well. Perhaps that was a good enough reason, if not an excuse.  
  
But anyone watching would've realized it--in that moment, Harry Potter proved that he was not what the world thought him to be, what even he had not yet fully realized he wasn't: the classic Good Guy; the textbook hero. The clear and obvious thing for the Good Guy to say at that moment did not even occur to Harry Potter. No, he did not say "thank you." Instead, he said the only thing that burned in his mind:  
  
"Malfoy. . .why did you do that?"  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Luckily, Draco had had plenty of time to think about the answer to that question. And, unluckily for Harry, Draco *was* watching, and *did* realize the significance of what had just happened. He grinned.  
  
_This just keeps getting more interesting._  
  
At first, when he'd stood over Potter's unconscious form out by the lake, he'd been rather disgusted with himself. A natural reaction, really. What on Merlin's Earth could justify him expending all that perfectly good energy on the Golden Boy of Hogwarts? Had he taken leave of his senses?  
  
. . .no.  
  
No, he'd acted on his instincts, and his instincts had never steered him wrong before. There was a reason. What possible reason then, could there have been? It was there, if he just looked for it.  
  
A reason--  
  
  
  
_**Back at the lake, morning--**_  
  
  
  
A reason--  
  
Draco's eyes widened for a moment. Well, who would've thought? He opened his mouth, as if to speak, or to cast--  
  
--and Hagrid's booming voice, and even more booming footsteps, interrupted him. "Harry? *Harry*! Are yeh all right? Where've yeh gotten off to?" The half-giant stopped short a few meters away from them and, seeing Draco, seemed to lose some of his exuberance. ". . .ah, Mister Malfoy." Then he caught sight of Harry. His brow twisted with worry, and the beginnings of a temper. "Well, then, what's happened here? And jest how did Harry here happen ter get into the lake? Yeh've got some explaining ter do, young sir."  
  
Mouth twisted into that superior smirk-sneer that generations of Malfoys had infuriated their enemies with, Draco gestured at first Potter, then at himself.  
  
"We're both drenched, aren't we, Giant? Puzzle that one out, if you like."  
  
Hagrid's face flushed with anger, but it was true. . .they *were* both soaked. And this brat of Lucius' certainly wasn't going to tell him the truth. So for now there was no way it could all be pinned on him. There was nothing for it, except. . .  
  
"All right, then, Mister Malfoy. You an' Harry get straight on up ter Madam Pomfrey. And," he added, fixing Draco with his best glare, "if there's *any bit* of goings-on on the way, or I hear Harry say you breathed some way how he didn' like, yeh'll be in fer so many detentions you won' believe it."  
  
Draco merely bowed slightly, mockingly, and started off. Harry was spelled onto a stretcher and floated behind him.  
  
A reason--  
  
Draco Malfoy was pleased to discover, in those moments, that he was more brilliant than he had ever given himself credit for.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
"Well?"  
  
He jerked himself back to the present, to the medicine-smelling room and Potter, who was looking at him in confused impatience. And then he smiled.  
  
"Why else, Potter?"  
  
Draco leaned in very close, close enough that his breath tickled his adversary's ear. This kind of unexpected nearness on the part of the predator always disconcerted the prey.  
  
Or rather, he smirked to himself, the malefactor always disconcerted the victim in this way.  
  
Yes. He liked that--the ring of it, and the perversity. It was fitting. He'd always heard it said that a Malfoy could turn anything into a crime.   
  
Even this.   
  
That he could be malefactor by being savior.  
  
Well, of course.  
  
"Potter," he breathed, "now you owe me."  
  
  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
And that's a wrap for Chapter 2. So. . .hope you liked it? Review if you'd like--I'd certainly appreciate it. Harsh reviews/critiques of content and style are also warmly welcome.   
  
~~Cutter  
  



	3. Deep Waters

Hey all,  
  
Chapter three (revised edition) is ready to go!  
  
First, copious thanks to bosch, who pointed out a problem with this chapter, which in turn allowed me to fix the problem. (Amazing how that works! ^_^) I am extremely grateful, and hope that it now makes more sense.  
  
Again, a huge "thank you" to all of my reviewers. I truly appreciate hearing your thoughts on the story. Shoutouts to Kittchi, mandraco, valacirca (don't forget to thank the squid! ^_~), Dracona de Lioncourt (hopefully Draco's explanation of his reasoning will be pleasing--and re: your question, I'm not sure I understand it, so I'm afraid I can't answer), gwen (evil is enticing, isn't it? Draco says to tell you "*not* to compare me to Snape, especially in matters of. . .[and here his lip curled in distaste] grease."), and cdyeravr (here's your fix--may you keep on craving! ^_~).   
  
  
  
  
  
**Many Waters**  
  
Chapter 3  
  
  
  
It was very important to be calm in these situations, thought Harry. Yes. Calm. _The only way to deal with Malfoy is with your wits about you. I have to remember that._  
  
Just because he could feel Malfoy's breathing suddenly, unexpectedly close to his ear didn't mean that he should be concerned. Right.  
  
He bit down, harshly, on the urge to jerk away in surprise and panic. (It would not be until the next morning, when Ron asked him what had happened to his lip, that he would realize that he'd "bitten down" in more than a figurative sense.) _Don't give Malfoy the satisfaction. Calm. I can stay focused. Even if he is acting_ really _strangely, and he's breathing down my neck, and that smile just now was really. . .disturbing._  
  
"Potter," came a puff of air just under his ear, "now you owe me."  
  
"_What?!_" Harry asked, perfectly calmly.  
  
Malfoy laughed.  
  
At that point, if Harry had ever had any doubts about his feelings for Draco Malfoy, they would've been resolved. They consisted of a primal, unreasoning rage that curled up from his gut and threatened to choke him. No one, not even Dudley, had ever provoked him like this pale little sneering git.  
  
"I saved your life, Potter," said Malfoy, backing far enough away that he could level an assessing gaze at his nemesis. "You owe me rather substantially, wouldn't you say?"  
  
Harry's shock made him even more inarticulate than usual. "You--I can't believe you--that's--what the hell kind of reason is that for saving someone?!"  
  
"You're a Gryffindor," Malfoy replied, simply. "Think about it. Can you honestly say you don't feel you have a debt of honor to me? Would you really be able to just go back to your little friends and go on living as if you didn't have to honor it, without feeling all tortured and conflicted and whatever else it is decent, upright people like you feel?" He gave a faint, derisive sneer, apparently at the thought of this.  
  
"Malfoy, you do whatever you want to do; I'm not indebted--"  
  
"It'll always be there, hanging over your head."   
  
"I--you can sod--"  
  
Malfoy was faster than Harry was, however, and interrupted him once again. "Do you really want to go on knowing that you owe me your life, Potter?"  
  
_You owe me your life, Potter._  
  
Oh God.  
  
He did.  
  
If nothing else, Harry knew, he had a good imagination. And when he imagined spending every second of the rest of his life knowing that he owed that second to Malfoy, it was enough to make him feel ill again. Malfoy was right. It would prey on him, unless he did something to expunge it.  
  
The sinking feeling in Harry's stomach was strangely like the one he'd experienced just a short time ago in the lake, and he was uncomfortably reminded of his last thoughts then--_I'll give my firstborn child_. . . .  
  
It was a choice between giving Malfoy whatever remuneration he wanted--and if Malfoy found it satisfying, Harry was sure to find it humiliating if not horrifying--or living the rest of his life hating the knowledge of what his classmate had done.  
  
Either way. . . .  
  
Malfoy won either way.  
  
Harry briefly debated throwing up again, just on principle, before he remembered that he didn't have anything left in his stomach. He took a deep breath instead.  
  
"All right, Malfoy, what exactly do you want?"  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Draco smiled.  
  
He found the idea of Harry living his life under the yoke of an unrepayable debt rather pleasing. Particularly satisfying if the debt was to him. Pleasing though it might be, however, it was to remain merely an idea. Draco had no intention of leaving the room without an absolute assurance that Potter would remain quiet about this little escapade. And the shame of weakness was no assurance. Decent people--like Potter--had a nasty habit of being subject to random confessional urges, Draco knew.  
  
If, however, Potter had actually done something _indecent_, something _bad_, that would ensure his silence. He wouldn't want any of his precious followers to know he wasn't the good guy they thought him to be. And that was desirable, because Draco had had some time to think about this, and he didn't know that he particularly wanted the entire school to know that he'd saved Harry Potter's life.   
  
Plus, watching Potter traumatize himself by doing something "wrong" out of his own free will would be just as pleasurable.  
  
Torturing Harry Potter was so easy.  
  
"Hmm. . . ." He crossed his arms and tapped one finger to his lips, in a caricature of one considering.  
  
Potter, in the bed next to him, growled unappreciatively.  
  
This was the only snag so far in an otherwise admirable plan. Draco didn't know that he _did_ want anything in particular. At least, nothing that wouldn't be a waste of this unique opportunity.  
  
_Ah, well_, he told himself. _Suspense will eat at him more than knowledge, anyway._  
  
"You needn't concern yourself with that yet, Potter. Just be ready when the time comes."  
  
"Wait, so you're just going to expect me to wait at your beck and call?"  
  
His lips turned up in a feral grin. "Problem with that, Wonder Boy?"  
  
Potter's jaw set and his face settled into a determined look. _Ah, there's that Gryffindor courage again._ "Two conditions."  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I won't betray my friends or harm anyone in any way."  
  
"And?"  
  
". . .and you won't tell anyone about--well, about. . . ."  
  
"About exactly how pathetic a swimmer the great Harry Potter is? That he almost got himself killed after only a few minutes in calm water?" supplied Draco, barely repressing another smile. As expected, Potter was doing his work for him.  
  
Potter, for his part, looked as if he were repressing a facial tic, or the urge to violently attack someone. Probably Draco. "Precisely. Yes."  
  
Draco didn't even really have to consider. He didn't want the story out, either, and he figured agreeing or disagreeing to the first condition wouldn't change the monumental argument they'd have to have if he asked Potter to harm someone in any case.  
  
He paused anyway, for effect.  
  
"Agreed. And now I believe I'll let you think up a suitable story for your Giant friend while I go to the Great Hall and have dinner."  
  
And Draco swept out of the hospital wing in a swish of robes, leaving Harry Potter gaping after him.  
  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
  
To be continued. So, let me know how you liked it/didn't like it, or how you think I could make it better. Harsh reviews are also warmly welcome.  
  
Draco: Masochist, you are.  
Cutter: Harder! Hit me harder!  
Harry: Oh, dear.  
Cutter (reassuring): Don't worry; it's an author thing. Suffering for the purpose of making our art better and all that.  
Draco (suspiciously): Are you sure you're not just a feedback whore?  
  
  
  
~~Cutter 


End file.
